


Nerfherders and Nightmares

by politicalmamaduck



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, F/M, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:33:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/politicalmamaduck/pseuds/politicalmamaduck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone on a secret Rebel mission, Princess Leia must cope with the aftermath of the Death Star and the destruction of Alderaan. One shot set in between A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back. Trigger warnings for panic attack and alcohol use.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nerfherders and Nightmares

He was a cargo pilot, from Force only knows where, some star system she couldn’t remember.

He came into the cantina with a swagger, carrying a helmet, nodded at the barkeep, and nodded at her, sitting alone at her table in the corner with her back to the wall.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a Force forsaken backwater port like this?”

Her voice froze in the back of her throat. What was she doing here, truly?

Fighting against a tyrannical, despotic Empire that cared nothing about the lives of its citizens, that exterminated entire planets on a whim?

The Death Star may have been vaporized. The Empire was not.

Looking down at her drink, she found herself spinning a sob story about being down on her luck (where had she learned to do that?) and her lover abandoning her there.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Breha,” she said. It was the first name that had popped into Leia’s mind.

She could feel the pressure building in her chest. Suddenly, she was having trouble breathing. She forced herself to swallow another sip of her whiskey and hoped the pilot didn’t notice. She had avoided talking about it, thinking about it, even, for weeks, somehow.

What would the woman who had borne that name with more poise and confidence than she was now say if she could see her? Her daughter, the Crown Princess of Alderaan and the heir to the ancient House Organa in a seedy far-off port cantina, flirting awkwardly with a cocky, handsome star pilot?

He reminded her of a nerf-herder she had known once on Alderaan.

He had sandy blond hair and green eyes. Not the typical profile of someone Leia was attracted to, but very conventionally attractive. Well built. Obviously he had no problem picking up women. What did Leia know about picking up men? It was clear that in general, they were attracted to her, but rarely did she return the sentiment. She had a youthful dalliance with her nerf herder on Alderaan, but they both knew it could be nothing more, could go no further, and they were young and just playing at being in love. They hadn’t _done_ anything, really, and Leia remembered him as part of her lost, wistful childhood. But there was something in this star pilot that reminded her of him. And Alderaan.

Alderaan. _Alderaan_.

Alderaan was gone. Her parents were gone. And so was the Princess Leia they had known.

They went to bed together, fumbling in the dark, their hands not quite grasping.

She could feel the whiskey flowing through her veins, knowing it made her brave, knowing she needed to do this, knowing why they called it liquid courage.

She didn’t have the energy or mental capacity to feel ashamed in the morning.

He didn’t need to know why.

She didn’t remember his name.

Or the name of the barkeep from the other cantina the next night.

Or the night after that…

But no matter what, she always told them her name was Breha. And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get rid of the tightness in her chest.

The alcohol relaxed her, prevented her from waking up in the middle of the night, grasping for breath, but she couldn’t escape from her days, tracking down far-flung Rebel contacts in that part of the galaxy. A supplier here, an Imperial defector there—it was so hard to know who to trust. She couldn’t escape her own mind.

The supplier she had met with this afternoon had been promising. After waking up with a raging headache, she fought her way through a sandstorm to an outlying town, dusty and near deserted. That had made her nervous.

The inside of his shop had been clean though, and the employees had paid her no mind, presuming her to be just another customer. The shop owner told her they had no dealings with Imperials in these parts, and no love for them either. They had done nothing in this system besides crushing the lucrative black market and smuggling, and what he described as a few “minor demonstrations”. Leia had some idea of what he meant by that. Visions of stormtroopers lined up in formation in a public square, the accused backed up against hastily constructed posts and cuffed there…She had seen and heard of it all before. It sent a shiver down her spine and she could feel the pressure in her chest once more.

She forced herself to focus on the man’s words, promised to be in contact again soon.

Stepping outside his shop into the daylight, she stopped and found herself bending over in a slight alcove next to the shop. Clutching her chest, she forced herself to breathe through the panic running through her. She could feel needles probing into her flesh, she was hot and cold all over, sweating and shaking, and couldn’t hear anything. Everything was black around her.

The moments passing felt like hours. Leia had never before felt so completely paralyzed, shaking all over as she slowly willed herself to regain her normal breathing and her hearing.

She sat up, anchoring her back to the wall of the shop.

What in all the hells had just happened to her?

She took a deep breath and tried to shakily stand up.

Give me strength, she thought. To whom or what she spoke or prayed she hadn’t the slightest idea.

Somehow, she found her way back to her ship just before dark. She hadn’t the energy to go to one of the cantinas that night.

_“Answer me. Where are the Rebel bases?”_

_Light. White, blinding light. She felt as though her skin had been seared by a hot blade. Seared like a piece of the finest nerf steak, being prepared to be served to the Emperor. He was dining in his palace on Coruscant. A fine wine was handed to him by a red-cloaked assassin, sworn to protect and serve His Eminence._

_She heard herself screaming._

_She was vaguely aware of someone asking her something._

_Rebellion? I’m not a rebel. I’m a member of the Imperial Senate, on a diplomatic mission to Alderaan. You’re overstepping your bounds. You have no evidence of any seditious materials._

_“Don’t let them enter your mind,” someone was telling her. Many years before. At home, on Alderaan. The Royal Palace. “If anything ever happens to me, you have to be able to protect yourself. You can do this, my Lelila. Learn to hold out as long as possible. I promise you will be alright. You are stronger than you know.” Her mother’s voice sounded a million light-years away. Her mother’s voice **was** a million light-years away, safe at home on Alderaan. _

_The memories were hazy, imperfect. She held ice in her hands, was held upside down. She had to hold her breath underwater, in the palace pools, for as long as she could. Practice. Practice makes perfect._

_But it was nothing like the pain._

_Something was off to the side, in her peripheral vision. Big and black._

_Something pricked her._

_Something was coursing through her veins, making her mind a muddle. Making her scream._

Leia Organa woke up in her bunk on her ship in complete darkness, screaming.

She was covered in a cold sweat, her blankets clutched in her fists so tightly she was surprised her nails hadn’t torn holes in them.

For the first time since landing on this mission, the nightmares had returned. She could hear ragged breathing in the darkness of her ship and for a panic-stricken second, she thought Darth Vader himself had secreted himself aboard her ship. Then she realized the ragged breathing she could hear was her own.

_Palace security taught her a proper stance, how to hold a blaster properly, how to aim squarely. They hadn’t taught her what to do in the aftermath. They had never thought she would actually have to aim a blaster and pull the trigger._

_She was safe on Alderaan. Safe in her diplomatic immunity as an Imperial Senator. Safe as Bail and Breha Organa’s daughter._

_They were all wrong._

_Proper stance and aim meant nothing when you were running for your life._

_Her footsteps echoed down the shining metal halls of the galaxy’s most fearsome battle weapon. Every Stormtrooper in the place was on their tail. She could feel the wounds in her side straining, threatening to make her start bleeding any moment. She winced and could see stars._

_She was running and running. Except this time, there was no Tatooine farm boy by her side. No hothead Corellian smuggler giving her sass. No walking carpet to get in her way._

_She was all alone._

_Except for the breathing in the darkness._

_She could hear him behind her down every corridor, every passageway. A relentless pursuit that showed no signs of stopping, she knew she couldn’t stop running no matter what. She couldn’t let him get any closer._

_She could hear the interrogation droids too, their buzzing behind the Lord of the Sith. Their needles were out, stretching, reaching for her…_

She awoke again, panting, unable to catch her breath. She fumbled in the darkness to pull the blankets off, to feel the cold floor of the ship beneath her feet, to steady herself. Her hands shaking, she felt for her glass of water on the table beside her bunk. Next to it her datapad registered ten new messages; her blaster charged and ready was right beside it. All was in order. She took a deep swallow of water and reached for her datapad. Lord Vader couldn’t get at her here. This mission required the utmost secrecy, as the Rebellion had made few inroads in this part of the galaxy. Outside of the few contacts she had made, most citizens were content to go about their daily lives, apathetic to the struggle and the suffering going on around them. Hardly anyone knew she was here, just High Command, the farm boy, the smuggler and the Wookiee. Her friends and the only family she had left. She forced herself to think of them, think of meeting them all back at the base and telling them about her successes.

She engrossed herself in reading the latest reports and sent messages to High Command informing them of the status of her mission.

Dawn reached out her golden fingers to light Leia’s hair a few hours later. Her arm was outstretched towards the datapad, back on the table.

This time, she had been dreaming of a faceless someone’s fingers in her hair. He was familiar to her, his touch was familiar. He smelled so good. But no matter how she yearned, she couldn’t see his face.

The day had passed by in a grey blur. She had done what she had been required to do, made the necessary contacts with her sources and suppliers, checked in with the shop owner, filed a report to High Command.

She swirled what was left of the liquid in her glass. Another day, another night. The whiskey burned the back of her throat. Taking a look at the bottle, she noticed it was from Corellia.

Try as she might, she couldn’t get a certain stuck-up, half-witted, scruffy looking nerf herder out of her head.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and constructive feedback much appreciated! You can find me on Tumblr at politicalmamaduck.tumblr.com.  
> I also wanted to give a shoutout to my wonderful editor and friend, Desiree. She's not on AO3 or Tumblr but you can find her real-life blog (featuring some posts that I've edited for her in exchange!) at desireeniccoli.wordpress.com.


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